


The Marks That Life Left On Them

by chosenandloved



Category: Zoey's Extraordinary Playlist (TV)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Mutual Pining, POV Alternating, Post-1x12, Romance, clarkeman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:55:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24443929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chosenandloved/pseuds/chosenandloved
Summary: This is a Clarkeman fic set about one month post-finale.Simon, Zoey, and Max all seek out therapy in their own ways and come to some startling realizations regarding life and love.
Relationships: Zoey Clarke/Max Richman
Comments: 47
Kudos: 67





	1. Simon

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic I've written. I'm honored to be joining you all.
> 
> Acknowledgements: AubreyRichman, Beta Extraordinaire, patroness of the fanfic arts, and the reigning Queen of Angst. I would not have published without her!
> 
> A shout out to the Zoey/Max Nation Discord. Thank you for your encouragement!
> 
> I've gotten a lot of inspiration from music as I wrote this story. For this particular chapter featuring Simon, this is the song, which I find fits the mood quite well:  
> Regina Spektor, Samson: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p62rfWxs6a8

Simon touched his pen to the page and hesitated. It was Saturday morning and he had come to the Golden Gate Grind with a specific purpose -- to write. His therapist had suggested that journaling might be a good outlet for him. He wasn’t so sure. It seemed like a textbook answer for a very real-world problem. Dropping the pen to the table, he tried to get ahold of himself, tightening his fingers around his coffee mug.

Simon didn’t even know if he had any words worth writing down. All that swirled through his head were song lyrics. Escaping into music had been a lifeline for him, although these days he wasn’t sure if it was a lifeline or a crutch. Was he actually participating in the exercise, or was he just recycling other people’s feelings? He glanced at his current playlist. Regina Spektor singing about how stars were just old light was not exactly the pick-me-up he was looking for.

He was momentarily pulled from his thoughts as one of the Grind employees set down the croissant he had ordered earlier. He smiled up at her and murmured his thanks before letting the clouds pass over his face again. He stared down at the notebook on the table. Why was this so difficult?

He had promised Zoey that he would seek out therapy and give it a real go. It was just talking, after all. For all he pontificated about honesty, he himself was not the best communicator. He seemed doomed to only ever be able to express himself halfway. Was that his lot in life? It felt like he always started off with good intentions, only to have the rest of the truth get stuck in his throat.

For the most part, he got away with it. His mother’s wedding to Tim had been a surreal moment, and the whirlwind weekend in Vegas had been almost fun, passing so quickly that he had even let himself enjoy it at times. In one of few free moments during the reception, his mother had placed her hand on his cheek and peered closely at his face, seeming to search his eyes for something. 

“I know this is a lot for you,” she had said. “But I want you to know you can still talk to me. I wish you’d tell me how you’re doing.” 

In his practiced way, he had felt his features brighten and his lips form a smile as he looked at his mother. 

“Mom, I’m good. I’m happy for you. Today is about you! Let me grab you another glass of champagne.”

This self-denial angle he had been falling into recently was not a good look, and definitely not sustainable. His mother had called him twice since he’d returned to San Francisco and he hadn’t returned either. What was he afraid of? For someone who talked about being real and mending relationships, he sure as hell wasn’t living it. He needed to start taking the same advice that he would give to others. 

He was tired of living his life as an imposter. Work Simon was in control. He wore smart suits and made contacts. Work Simon knew which path to take and had answers. But every night when he arrived home, it was only a matter of time before he started bleeding out, pressing a cloth to a wound that never seemed to heal. 

If Zoey’s father’s passing had impacted him at all, it had taken him out of himself for the first time in a long time, bringing things into a startlingly crystal focus. Maybe it was time to step into that and look at some hard truths in the light of day; the ones that were nagging at the back of his mind. If he wrote them down, maybe he’d be able to quiet them for a while.

With a heavy sigh, he willed his hand to pick up his pen and started to write.

_If she wanted you, she would have already chosen you._

_Shit._

_Her eyes are on the one who’s been steady and constant._

_You are too broken right now to try to put someone else back together._

_They say I need therapy. They’re right, but I’m not ready to have my grief put into a box, or put under a microscope._

_They don’t know me or my story._

_They don’t know._

Here was what he _did_ know: Zoey was not a vessel for his past trauma. A friend in the truest sense of the word would try to give of himself. Simon now realized that he had not been a real friend, but an entanglement. He had offered a liaison, but not a safety net. She could no longer serve as his sounding board, at least not in the way she had in the past. She deserved better than that. Better than him.

Yes, the realization stung a little, but not any more than he could handle. Tucking the journal under his arm and tossing the now empty cup in the trash can, he stepped outside. The sun was going down. The almost-autumn air was rapidly cooling and tinged with something pleasant that he didn’t quite recognize. As he set off toward home, he breathed in deeply and filled his lungs, almost to the point of pain. By the time he let out the breath, he was already rounding the corner to his condo, making a mental note to return his mother’s call.


	2. ZOEY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zoey decides to try a grief management technique with questionable results, then finds herself daydreaming about what possibilities the future holds. A peek inside Zoey’s mind-confused, grieving, and a tad lovesick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Thank you all for taking a chance on this experimental fic. I've really enjoyed writing it. In this chapter we see Zoey, and take a deep dive into what she's feeling at the moment.
> 
> As always, props to AubreyRichman for being my tireless beta and confidante. BOW DOWN!
> 
> My song inspiration for this chapter was Paul Simon's "Graceland." Here are the links for both his original and a gorgeous cover by Kina Grannis:
> 
> https://youtu.be/H9M4XJXnCcw (Paul Simon)  
> https://youtu.be/cn6CBSX6nUw (Kina Grannis)

ZOEY

In a turn of events she never could have predicted, Zoey was inspired by a Master Class she’d watched on poetry. Poetry, for a girl who took apart microwaves as a pastime? It seemed bizarre to her, too. Her family therapist, Dr. Winslow, had also urged her to return to journaling as part of the healing process. She figured this was no time like the present to broaden her horizons.

Zoey had kept a journal before, but it was more of a record book, a way to keep track of thoughts, appointments, or new acquaintances. For someone with such an analytical, data-driven mind, poetry was a departure for her. She had done a decent job of avoiding poetry in college, taking only the required English classes before delving into the core curriculum of computer science. Zoey had never imagined that she’d seek it out again of her own volition, but she also never imagined she’d end up with a musical superpower. 

Truth be told, Zoey felt emotionally numb. Nearly a month had passed since her father died. The promise of a break in the pain and nothingness was a welcome one. Moving forward? Liberating oneself? She was willing to try anything at this point. Sign her up.

When she broke for lunch, she took her notebook and what remained of her nonfat latte up to the terrace. The November winds were in full swing and it was too cold to venture up to the roof today. Arriving on the third floor, she spotted an available seat close to the window and hurried to claim it. The mid-day sunlight made her eyes squint a bit, but they quickly adjusted after ducking under the protection of a nearby fern.

Opening the worn leather cover of her journal, Zoey stalled, admiring the weight of the paper. She tried to shake off her nerves.She tried to recall the basic rules of poetry from freshman English, then shook her head. Not everything needs to be in iambic pentameter. Here there was no code, no algorithm to follow. _Respect the exercise_ , she told herself. Being open was good, right? It would be good for her. To her complete surprise, once her pen met the paper the words came easily. It was as if they had been waiting for their release, and they tumbled out violently and without mercy. 

_The air without you contains less oxygen_

_than I need to function_

_The legs walk, the heart beats, the blood pumps_

_I feel like I’m spilling all over the sidewalk_

_I see your shadow in all the familiar places_

_Can anyone see it? Is it just me? Can anyone hear me?_

_I can hear you_

_I hear too much_

_Shove fingers in my ears until it subsides_

_Pulse throbbing in my ears_

The words left just as quickly as they had come. Zoey dropped her pen with a clatter. Maybe this had been a mistake. She didn’t think she was ready for this level of catharsis just yet. It was much too loud. Memories and lyrics screamed inside her brain, although looking around, she didn’t see anyone singing. It must have only existed in her head.

She was held captive by a situation of her own making. She had been a fool to attempt something like this in a public place. She wasn’t ready. Ugly-crying at work was not what she needed to fall back into a routine. 

Zoey found herself wishing that Max were there. He would have steadied her shaking hands and made her look him in the eyes. He would have smiled at her gently and asked her if there was anything he could do. But he wasn’t there, so she had to do this on her own.

What would Max tell her? She focused madly on what that might be. _Could she make it through the next ten seconds?_ he would say _. And then the next ten?_ Surely she could. So instead of letting the tears fall, she steeled herself against the crashing waves of grief and was still for a moment. She focused on the fact that she was safe and whole. Slowly, the roaring in her ears dissipated to a buzz and then died out completely. Taking in a shuddering breath, Zoey picked her head up to look around the terrace and saw that everything else appeared normal. Other employees nearby gestured at screens and stirred their coffee. They didn’t so much as glance in her direction.

Minutes could have passed, or hours? It was hard to tell. Slowly starting to feel more in control, Zoey shook her head. This had been a fail of epic proportions. Four weeks had passed since her father died, and she still felt blown apart. She imagined what was left of her heart behind a sort of cage that she had fashioned to protect herself. Behind the bars it hung in tatters, weeping filaments where the real muscle should be. 

Yet, despite the sorrow and confusion that threatened to pull her under, Zoey found herself comforted by the thought of Max and how his imprint on her extended all the way to her subconscious. He had rescued her, even now, and he had no idea. 

\----

Abandoning the scene of her near-breakdown, Zoey returned to her desk. Signing in to her desktop, she concentrated on the code in front of her, losing herself in the language and in the work. She didn’t know how much time had passed before she finally tore her eyes away from the screen, pulled out of her daze by the gentle buzzing of her phone. She had ignored it for hours. Two text notifications illuminated its face. Max.

_Max, 12:27 pm: Hey! Hope you’re having a good day. I submitted three applications today and I’m feeling more like a functioning adult, even though I just ate two cronuts for lunch._

_Max, 4:13 pm: Do you want to meet for coffee later on, say 6:30? I miss you, Zo._

Zoey felt a slow warmth begin to spread throughout her body and her erratic pulse began to slow to a natural, comfortable rhythm. A smile graced her face as she considered what Max must be doing at this very moment. 

She imagined that he was sitting at the desk in the corner of his bedroom, angled to receive optimal early-afternoon sun. The sleeves of his oxford shirt were rolled up to his elbows, and his left hand held a sphere of his trademark Play-Doh, molding and re-molding as he worked. She could almost see how the muscles in his jaw contracted in concentration as he selected the perfect font for his revamped resume. 

More than anything, though, the past month had shown her how Max saw her. When he looked at her he didn’t see her tattered heart, although he certainly acknowledged it was there. He was gracious enough to not revisit the barbs that they had traded in the months prior. He had stepped up for her in a way that she had not even thought possible. Max had held Zoey as she cried. He never complained after Facetiming for hours about nothing and everything when she couldn’t face the idea of sleep. Zoey was grateful that he was willing to put aside his own pride to work on...whatever it was that they were. She still didn’t know how to define what they were to each other, outside of his declaration of love and the way that he consumed her thoughts in a way she would never tire of.

Despite all of this, she still felt unsure about where they stood. Max had told her that she needed to focus on herself, and she had taken him at his word. At the same time, Zoey knew that Max was someone who looked forward to the future, not back into the past. She felt like the past was always pulling her back. How she wished she could be brave enough to go through life the way he did, with love always on the tip of his tongue. How she wished she could be brave enough to admit, even to herself, that she loved him, that he was dear to her in a way that thrilled her and scared her. Tears pricked her eyes with the realization that Max was her constant, her fixed point, her rock. 

Zoey prepared herself to hear the familiar, broken-record voice of doubt that crept from the back of her mind. _Do you think he’s waiting for you_? The voice asked. _Do you still think that he feels the same way about you now, after all you put him through? After all this time you made him wait?_

But this time, the voices were silent. For the first time in three weeks...no, a month, the flutters that she felt in her stomach were not ones of anxiety or fear. This time, they stirred feelings of excitement and anticipation. 

Zoey allowed herself to imagine what it would be like to slip her hand into Max’s as they walked to get coffee, or to sneak a note into his backpack for him to discover later. She wanted to straighten his collar and brush stray hairs off of his jacket. She wanted to spend a Sunday afternoon in companionable silence, both caught up in their respective books, and look up, only to discover him gazing at her. Zoey craved the intimacy of small moments. The thought of it caused her breath to hitch in her throat. Zoey wanted small moments, and she wanted them with him. Maybe if they accumulated enough of them, the little holes that the past year had punched in her would begin to fill in. 

There was only one problem with this scenario: Max didn’t know how she felt. The last time she had taken a decisive step in that direction had been the night her father had passed away. Zoey wore the memory of that night like a brand. She had leaned over and kissed him mid-sentence, surprising even herself. Max had looked at her in utter shock, his face a mixture of disbelief, joy, and reverence. Later on, upon receiving that fateful phone call, the spell had been broken. Untangling her limbs from his had been an exquisite form of torture.

While the last month had felt like she was drowning in grief, Zoey was head-above-water now. More than ever, she understood the importance of telling the people in your life how you feel about them. And she was finally ready to make that happen with Max. It would require her to be honest and vulnerable; two qualities that Max already had in spades. Surely she could be honest and vulnerable with a person who had already demonstrated such selflessness. She owed him at least that much.

Rising from her chair with more clarity than she’d had in weeks, Zoey glanced at her watch. It was only 6:05, and it was only around the corner, but she decided to head over to the Grind a bit early. Perhaps if she arrived before Max, she would be able to get her thoughts in order. Giving her aching back an overdue stretch, she gathered her purse and pulled on her coat, setting out with a renewed sense of purpose, and no small number of butterflies in her stomach. 

\----

The November winds were particularly unforgiving after the sun had gone down. Zoey crossed her arms across her chest and pulled her coat more tightly around herself. She walked past the barren trees at a pace even more brisk than normal, deciding along the way to let Max’s words and actions guide her. She hoped that this time, words would not fail her.

Zoey had made the right decision in arriving early. It was the Grind’s busiest time. She made it through the growing line and placed her order with the barista, turning her head just in time to see Max enter the coffee shop, the collar of his olive green jacket turned up against the cold. He spotted her and flashed her a blinding smile, causing her hands to clench in her pockets. A sense of contentment flashed and then settled comfortably in her bones. Zoey chided herself as Max wove his way through the crowd to where she was standing. _Act normal, act normal_ , she recited in her head. Max is your friend, even though you need him more than oxygen. Going weak in the knees was something that only happened to Austen heroines. Was she that girl? Apparently, she was. When it came to Max, anyway. The situation was unraveling quickly.

He reached her and pulled her in for a quick hug. She shivered involuntarily as the cold shell of his ear pressed against her neck. He smiled apologetically and ran his hands briskly up and down her arms to warm her. 

“This place is busy tonight!” he exclaimed. 

Stunned into shy silence, Zoey could only nod in agreement. She noticed his eyes light up as a couple near the back corner of the coffee shop began to stand up, their chairs scraping against the floor. 

“What do you think? Should I grab it?” he asked, eyebrows raised questioningly.

“Sure, that’s a great spot,” she replied. “Go ahead. I’ll wait for our drinks,” she said, gesturing to the counter.

Zoey watched, amused, as Max glided toward his prize only to pause a few feet away, rocking back on his heels as he waited nearby, not wanting to seem too eager. He nodded politely as the couple made their way toward the exit. As soon as it was acceptable, Max slid into one of the chairs, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it on the other seat to mark it was taken. He glanced up to flash her a brilliant smile of triumph. Zoey’s heart thudded uncomfortably in her chest. 

Receiving her order, she began to snake her way through the crowd to the table. She slid Max’s black coffee across the table as she took her seat across from him. He accepted it with a smile of thanks.

“This is the perfect spot,” he declared with a contented sigh. 

“You did good, kid,” Zoey replied. Max grinned.


	3. MAX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As he sets out on a new path after leaving SPRQ Point, Max finds himself unable to keep his thoughts from Zoey Clarke. Meeting for coffee seems innocent enough, but things unravel quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Thank you to everyone for their very kind notes and positive response to this work. It's been a lot of fun and I'm happy that it's found its place among you all.
> 
> Thank you to AubreyRichman, The Dark Phoenix, Jean Grey, and BBE (Best Beta Ever) all rolled into one.  
> Shoutouts as always to the Zoey/Max Nation Discord. :)
> 
> Inspiration song: “So Will I” by Ben Platt, who has been ruining my life in the best possible way for the better part of a month. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9VjDNOJHQ3g

MAX

Everyone, including Zoey, thought that he was preparing for interviews. It was partially true. He had been. He had woken up that morning and immediately sat down at his desk, a concept for a new resume layout fresh in his mind. He had worked at it diligently for three straight hours, coming up for air (and to order food) when the clock struck twelve noon. 

Max had always worked like this. If he had a goal in sight, nothing could pull him away until the task was done. He had been working exclusively from home and was pretty sure that he was single-handedly keeping Postmates in business, but that was beside the point. His home office had good light, plenty of Play-Doh, and a framed photo of him and Zoey from the last time he had gone sailing with the Clarkes. In the photo, Max had one hand clamped over his eyes, as if embarrassed, and Zoey had her head thrown back in what he knew had been uproarious laughter, her eyes as bright and blue as the surrounding bay.

Max was determined to not let this setback at SPRQ Point define him. For the first time in a long time, he felt excited by the prospect of a new position, and he was willing to put in the time to earn it. He was no longer content to settle. However, what occupied his thoughts now was far more pleasant, his eyes roaming to the frame on his desk. To be completely honest, he didn’t try nearly as hard as he could have to keep his mind from straying. He found it impossible to not think about his absurdly lovely friend.

Since Mitch’s death, he had kept his promises to Zoey: He had helped her focus on herself and her family. He was there to be a friend, to be a comforting force, to be whatever she needed him to be. He had not asked her to define what they were to each other, although his affections and wishes had not changed. Despite all of this, keeping his promises to Zoey hadn’t felt like work. It had felt like what he was meant to be doing. Was there a world in which he did not think about her, consider her, orbit around her, adore her? He couldn’t conceive of it.

Max’s head began to swim with a million thoughts and images at once. When this happened, he often turned to his piano. He had played since he was five years old, and playing had become an extension of himself. He had his old favorites that he knew by heart, but he also liked to play around with melodies and create new ones. Since he was a moody teenager he had found solace in music and songwriting, allowing some of his thoughts and feelings to spill out onto the pages of his journal. 

Max’s journal was well worn and well-used, with a green and black cover. He’d had it since high school. At first it had been filled with song lyrics of artists he admired over the years, but soon it grew to include doodles and eventually lyrics of original songs. These were the songs that no one heard but him. It wasn’t that he was ashamed of them, but they were so deeply personal that he couldn’t imagine ever being brave enough to share them with anyone. The thought was ludicrous. It reminded him of a series of paintings by Frida Kahlo he had once seen, where she showed her heart physically cut out and beating outside of her body. The idea of letting someone between the pages of that journal seemed impossible. Nearly impossible.

With a deep sigh, he frowned at the blank page before him, as if he could shame it into behaving. How was he supposed to put into words how he felt anchored and at peace when Zoey walked into a room? How could he describe how undeniably right her hand had felt at the base of his neck when they’d kissed that fateful night? Would he cheapen with words how each kiss had felt like a new promise? Maybe. His right hand rested on the keys while his left scribbled down a few lines before they left him:

_ How I wish she could see _

_ See the way she wrecks me _

_ How I wish she could feel _

_ How I have laid myself bare before her _

_ Her presence pushing breath into my lungs _

_ Her absence like an obsidian darkness _

_ The fire burns _

_ And it does not consume her _

_ But all that she is has consumed me _

_ And I am undone _

_ I’ve come undone... _

  
  


Max was momentarily distracted by the beep of his phone. He released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Glancing at the screen, he saw that he had a reply to his earlier messages.

  
  


_ Zoey, 4:17: I would love to grab coffee. See you then! _

_ Zoey, 4:18: I miss you, too. _

  
  


Max smiled. And just like that, he was reset.

\----

With about thirty minutes remaining until he had to leave to meet Zoey, Max decided to jump in the shower. Throwing on jeans and a maroon crewneck sweater, he had to admit that it felt good to be wearing real clothes after a month of cronut-dusted sweatpants. Gathering his things to leave, he stopped to check his reflection in the entryway mirror. He was overdue for a haircut, and his still-damp, chestnut-brown hair seemed to have a mind of its own, with wavy tendrils threatening to fall over his eyes. He attempted to force them into submission but it was a losing battle. 

With a sigh of resignation, Max pulled on his jacket and yanked open the door, a decided spring in his step as he looked forward to seeing his dearest friend.

\----

Max reached the Grind at exactly 6:30. Pushing open the door, he glanced around the bustling cafe until his eyes settled on a shock of red hair at the counter. Zoey turned around and met his eyes, looking a bit startled to see him. He smiled at her and made his way to her through the crowd.

Zoey stood at the counter, keeping the world spinning on its axis. She gazed at him as he approached. It took him down every time. Max had been kidding himself. The word “friend” was so inadequate. It didn’t match their history. It didn’t do justice to their intimacy. Truth be told, his deepest desire was to be hers. 

But none of that mattered right now. They were just getting coffee. He had made a promise. He had told her to focus on herself, and he intended to help her do that, no matter the personal cost. _Snap out of it, man. She needs you._ _Act normal, act normal_.

By then, Max had reached her. He couldn’t resist the urge to give her a quick hug. Zoey shivered as they pulled apart.  _ Poor thing. Was she cold?  _ He rubbed the sides of her arms, hoping it took away the chill she’d felt.

“This place is busy tonight!” he exclaimed. 

Zoey nodded in agreement. She seemed quieter than usual.  _ What was she thinking? _ He hoped she was okay. Maybe they’d be able to talk more if they had a more private place to sit. Luckily, he spotted a couple near the back preparing to leave.

“What do you think? Should I grab it?” he asked Zoey.

She agreed, and he set off. Once he’d claimed his prize, he slid into one of the chairs and smiled up at her. By then, she was picking up their order and taking her own seat across from him. God. She was even more beautiful up close. Would he ever get used to it? He wished he could tell her. Of course, he couldn’t. His silent adoration would have to do. For now.

Instead he settled for, “This is the perfect spot.”

“You did good, kid,” she replied with a smile brightening her face. It was matched by his own.

They sat in companionable silence for a few moments, their still-defrosting hands enjoying the warmth of the steaming cups of coffee.

Zoey cleared her throat. “So, cronuts,” she began.

_ Wow, she remembered that detail.  _ “Yes! They’re delicious. The best of both worlds. Normally they’re hard to track down, but since I’m available when normal people are working, I’ve had secret access. Although, come to think of it, The Daily Bread already knows me by name. I’m a little worried that I may have met some kind of quota.” He was babbling about baked goods. If it bothered her, Zoey didn’t let on. 

Max shook his head. “We should go get one some time. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t get you the hook-up?”

Zoey had an odd expression on her face that he couldn’t quite place. She seemed to shake it off quickly, though, as she launched into an entertaining story of how she’d put a distracted Tobin in his place earlier in the week, a few of her curls escaping the clip at her crown as she shook her head. Confronted with the memory of how soft her hair had felt that one night, almost a month ago, Max fought the urge to reach out his hand and tuck a curl behind her ear.

“You’re so brave, Zo,” he said. “I’m proud of you. You’re a great team leader, and you’re standing on your own two feet. Then again, you always have.” 

Without even thinking, Max reached over and picked a lone hair off of Zoey’s coat. Her eyes widened and her gaze followed his hand as it fell back to his side. Perplexed, he watched as her hand rose to trace the path his own had taken moments earlier. The expression on her face was unreadable. She looked back down at her hands.

“Uh, sorry,” he started. “You had something on your coat. Was that weird?”

Zoey made no reply.  _ Had he made things awkward? _

“I’m just trying to be a friend to you, Zoey. Isn’t that why we’re here?”

Max watched in anguish as she finally lifted her head to look up at him, slowly, as if it took immense effort, her beautiful blue eyes glassy with tears. Blinking rapidly, and with a hoarse “ _ I’m sorry, Max, _ ” Zoey rose abruptly and walked toward the exit, leaving him rooted in his spot. 

Temporarily stunned, it took Max a moment to process what had happened before he stood to follow her. He had the presence of mind to grab her phone and his jacket, frantically shoving one arm into place as he fought his way out of the busy shop. Zoey was already out of sight.

\----

Max burst outside and quickly looked around, jamming the other arm into his jacket. He took a quick look down the street, scanning for a petite figure in a bright magenta coat. His mind raced with possibilities. His best guess was that she was mad at him. What had he said that upset her? Max was nearly wild with worry, the beginnings of an apology already forming on his lips. If he could just get to her, he could fix it.

Then he spotted her. It seemed that Zoey had sprinted across the square into the nearby park, stopping to rest on a bench about fifty yards from where he stood. Max closed the distance between them quickly, only to slow down when he came near.

She seemed impossibly small and forlorn. Her shoulders were curved inward, as if she were trying to fold into herself. He approached her slowly like one might an injured bird. He saw that she was trembling, and making a sound that he didn’t recognize at first.  _ Oh, my God. She’s crying.  _ Great, heaving sobs. Max’s heart gave a pang and before he knew it he was sitting beside her on the bench, his words of apology forgotten. He reached over tentatively and grazed Zoey’s shoulder with the back of his hand. 

“Zo,” he implored. “Please. Please tell me what I did wrong.”


	4. ZOEY II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A heartbroken Zoey leaves a bewildered Max alone in a coffee shop. When he finally catches up to her, their conversation is anything but what they expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've reached the end! I can't believe this is the end of my very first fic. It has been an awesome ride. Thank you for all of your support! I read and appreciate every one of your comments.
> 
> As always, a shoutout to the lovely people at the Zoey/Max Nation Discord, for their continual inspiration.
> 
> The Gold Medal of Honor goes to my incomparable beta and friend, AubreyRichman. If not for her, I wouldn't have even begun writing. 
> 
> Musical Inspirations for this chapter: 
> 
> Coldplay, Til Kingdom Come: https://youtu.be/E0UN-pVTLf4  
> Sara Bareilles, Gravity: https://youtu.be/rEXhAMtbaec

ZOEY II

  
  


Zoey’s lungs were burning. When she’d left the coffee shop she had been operating purely on instinct. Willing her legs to take her literally anywhere else, she had just started running. From what, she wasn’t exactly sure. From Max? That didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense.

She had told herself that she’d let Max’s words guide her. They had, in a way. His words were of comfort, of kindness, and of friendship. They had led her to the truth that she had been hoping against. He wanted to be her friend, and nothing more. The infuriating part was that Max was the same as he’d always been: curious, giving, present. Zoey hadn’t meant to leave him so ungraciously. When she stood up, catching a glimpse of him, she’d seen a mixture of confusion and hurt on his face. It killed her to know that she had caused it, but she couldn’t bear to hear him call her his friend one more time.

Of course they were friends. They were best friends. There was no one that Zoey trusted more. But when Max had reached out and swept the errant hair from her coat, something inside Zoey had snapped. She had tried to play it cool, but when her wildest dreams and her present reality collided, it had moved her in a way that she couldn’t have predicted. 

None of it mattered now. He had made his position abundantly clear. Somehow, without her noticing, Max had closed a door. Now Zoey was standing on the other side, her fist raised as if to knock. But it was too late.

She collapsed onto a bench and tried to catch her breath. Ragged sounds escaped from her throat and she was no longer able to stave off the wave of tears. They streamed from her eyes without mercy as she rocked forward, choking on the realization that she’d miss her chance. 

She didn’t even notice him approaching until someone sat beside her on the bench. Max. He’d come after her. Zoey felt him brush her shoulder gently, as if afraid she might run off again. He was silent for a moment.

“Zo,” he implored softly. “Please. Please tell me what I did wrong.”

_What?_

Zoey’s head snapped up. 

“Tell you what you did wrong?” she repeated, sniffling. She must have been a sight to behold. Her face was splotchy, her eyes wild. She felt wild.

If Max noticed he didn’t let on. “Tell me what I can do, Zoey. I’ll make it right, I promise.”

Zoey didn’t reply. She tried to wrap her head around what he was getting at. Did he think she was angry with him? There was another long pause.

Max heaved a sigh. “I just thought...I thought I said-here.”

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out her phone, wordlessly passing it to her. She accepted it and tucked it into her purse. She hadn’t realized she’d left it behind. How had he even found her?

“You left it inside,” Max said softly. “You left so suddenly. Care to tell me what that was about?”

Zoey took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. She looked down at her hands in her lap. Max, sensing her hesitation, sat in silence beside her, watching her quietly. She could feel the worry coming off of him in waves.

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” She felt him tense beside her in silent disagreement. “You are a great friend, Max.” She said softly, not lifting her eyes. “You always have been.” 

“Zo, that’s what I’m here for. I’ll always be here for you.” 

Zoey’s heart twinged. “I know that, Max, and I appreciate it. With everything going on with me, with my family lately, you’ve been there through it all and I don’t know what I would do without you. You...You didn’t do anything wrong. It was all me.” 

Zoey felt his eyes searching her as she spoke. “Zoey, what is this really about?

She tilted her head up so that she could look him in the eye. Nothing could have prepared her for what she found there. Max was looking at her with a wild desperation, like his very life depended on her being okay.

Zoey knew that it was time. She had to be completely honest with him, even if it changed things between them. Even if he had already moved on. She steeled herself and began. 

“Max, you…you’re my best friend and I can’t imagine life without you.” Max, sensing that the danger of her running away had passed, ventured to inch closer to her on the bench. He reached out cautiously and grasped one of her hands in his.

She pressed on. “But I think...I think I want more. I want to be more than your friend. You gave me that chance before and I didn’t take it. I waited too long and now, I’m just your friend again. You said it yourself tonight. You’re just trying to be a good friend. But if I’m being honest, every time you call me your friend, I die a little inside.”

Months of bottled-up emotions came tumbling out now and Zoey was powerless to stop them.

“Ever since my dad died, I’ve become hyper-aware of what his legacy is. My dad was the type of person who really saw you. He saw people for who they were and loved them anyway. He loved me that way. He was my safe place.” Her voice wavered, but she continued. 

“My dad is gone, and it’s something I have to carry around with me. I feel the weight of it all the time. I feel like I’m walking through life with this hole in my chest that everyone can see.”

Max’s grip on her hand tightened.

“I’m definitely not okay yet, and I don’t think I will be for a long time, or ever. Recently, though, it’s as if there’s this fog that’s lifted, and I’m starting to look around. I’m not ready to see the good in any of this, but it has forced me to think about the path that I’m taking, and the people that are important to me.”

Zoey hesitated, swallowing against the lump that was beginning to form in her throat. “I don’t know if I can only be your friend, Max. Not anymore. Not with how I feel about you. I love you.”

She heard his sharp intake of breath beside her, but she didn’t dare look at him. Max said nothing. He seemed frozen in his spot.

Zoey fell into her own silence. The sun had long since set and the two of them were bathed in the warm glow of a streetlamp. Another eternity passed. She knew he wouldn't say anything for fear of hurting her. She couldn’t endure this any longer. She had said what she came to say. She had been honest with him. She could live with that. 

“It’s getting late. I should go,” she said softly. She released his hand and rose from the bench, taking a step as to if to walk away. 

Max was on his feet in a flash. He caught her by the elbow and spun her around to face him, seeming to find his voice.

“Zoey, what the hell? Why do you keep running away from me?” 

He was so concerned, so relentlessly earnest that it killed her. It was just prolonging her torture. She had to get away. She attempted to wriggle out of his grasp but his hands held her tightly. 

“Please don’t go,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. 

At his words Zoey felt whatever strength that remained leave her. She gave up and fell into Max’s arms with a sob. He wrapped his arms around her and she melted further into his chest. His hands pressed up and down her back reassuringly. His chest rumbled with words of comfort that she couldn’t quite make out. He held her for several minutes this way, tucking her in under his chin, covering her completely.

“I don’t want to do this without you,” she murmured into his neck. “I can’t.” Fresh tears blurred her vision and she shook her head in vain to clear them. 

“Then don’t.” 

She drew her head back and looked up at him, confusion written on her face.

“Zoey,” he began. His voice was thick with emotion.

Max gathered both of her hands in his. He drew in a deep breath and said, “You really don’t see yourself clearly, do you?”

Zoey stared at the ground, dumbstruck.

“Look at me,” Max whispered. 

Her eyes met his. They were as kind as ever. “You said you loved me.”

Zoey nodded. “I did. I do. And I wanted you to know the truth. But-”

“But what?” Max interjected.

Zoey shook her head. “What does it matter? That's all in the past. Besides, what do I have to offer you?” she replied bitterly. She barked out a laugh, incredulous. 

“I’m stubborn, and I’m proud. I give advice that I don’t take. I criticize you but I can’t take criticism. I come with broken parts that need fixing. Nothing about me is easy. I’m work.”

A slow smile spread across Max’s face. He gazed at her affectionately. “I’m not afraid of work. I’m not afraid of you, or your broken parts. I want the messy parts. I want all of it. I want you, Zoey, if you’ll have me.”

 _If she’d have him?_ Zoey’s heart fell to her feet. She looked down at the ground, half expecting to see it there. 

She tried to respond but words failed her. Her poor, abused heart quickened its pace, and the beginnings of a smile twitched at the corners of her lips. _Could it be true?_

Max continued. “I tried to give you space after your dad passed away, but my feelings for you never changed. I just never really allowed myself to hope that yours had. I’ve never stopped loving you.”

It didn't feel real. It couldn't be. Zoey’s voice returned, speaking as if in a dream. She let go of his hands, pacing the ground in front of him. 

“But it’s not fair to you,” She began to ramble. “You didn’t sign up for this. You shouldn’t have to carry around this burden. It’s not yours to carry.” 

Max opened his mouth as if to object, but Zoey shot him a pleading look to silence him.

“In which universe could I ever deserve you? I’ve made you wait. I’ve made you put your feelings on hold, and yet here you are.”

Max smiled softly at her. “It never felt like waiting, Zoey.”

Zoey felt like her heart might stop.

Max loved her. He still loved her, even after all of the indecision and the half-truths.

After all of the tear-filled, midnight phone calls, and the crippling self-doubt. He still wanted her. It wasn't too late.

Zoey took a step closer to him. Maybe it was the cold, or the look in his eyes. She felt brave, and a little bit reckless. Max’s eyes watched her carefully. She took another step. They were face to face. Tentatively, she placed her hand on his shoulder. She let it rest there for a moment, before slowly snaking it behind his neck, the warmth of his skin a delicious contrast to the brisk December air.

“Is this something a friend would do?” she asked quietly.

Max swallowed heavily. “No,” he replied.

Zoey kept going, letting her fingers tangle in the waves on the back of his head. It was even better than she remembered. Thrilling at this contact, she decided to keep going. She dropped her hand down to his collarbone, skirting the collar of his sweater with one finger. Her other hand came up to join the first, and she pressed both palms against his chest.

“What about this?” she whispered.

Max shivered. “Zoey,” he warned, his voice low.

Zoey stepped even closer, pressing the full length of her body against him. Ever the gentleman, Max stood like a statue, although he felt intoxicatingly warm and inviting. She stretched up and pressed her lips to his, tentatively at first. She paused and drew back, feeling his breath mingling with hers for a moment. Suddenly, it was as if the spell was broken, and Max responded with the urgency of a man drowning. 

She felt the familiar press of his hands, which were evidently no longer playing by gentleman's rules. Zoey smiled against his mouth. She could get used to this.

\----

Max was gazing at her with a dreamy, faraway look in his eyes. Zoey smiled up at him, and reached up on her tiptoes to straighten the collar of his jacket. 

“Thank you,” he breathed. He raised his own hand and affectionately tucked one of her fiery curls behind her ear. His hand traveled down to her shoulder and to her arm, fingers tracing languid lines between her elbow and her wrist. 

Catching her eye and tilting his head to one side, Max smiled at her. “It’s cold out here,” he murmured. “I have a criminally large blanket and plenty of popcorn. Movie night? What do you say?”

Zoey sighed with pleasure. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Max looped an arm around her back as they set off. She let her head rest on his shoulder and it felt like relief. It felt like home. 

  
  
  



End file.
